


Lights Will Guide You Home

by unstarred



Category: Amazing Spider-Man (2012), Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (2012), The Avengers - All Fandoms
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-23
Updated: 2012-11-27
Packaged: 2017-11-12 17:16:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/493731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unstarred/pseuds/unstarred
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter stumbles upon what really happened in Budapest, eighteen years later. He and Gwen discover the truth about her biological parents, and Natasha comes clean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Superfamily AU (times two, kinda). Takes place several years after the events in [Down Will Come Baby](http://archiveofourown.org/works/479703?view_full_work=true). Finally got around to starting this last July after letting the idea sit for almost a month, after I babbled for hours at [isengard](http://archiveofourown.org/users/isengard). This was also induced by post-Spider-Man movie feels.

Peter had met this girl—well, not really met, more like quietly watched and admired from afar for two years—and now, here he was, breaking into SHIELD’s database, effectively circumventing all sorts of firewalls and security protocols to get the information he needed to help her. Peter had figured he was dead meat long before he disabled Jarvis, because one, he was breaking all sorts of federal and international laws; two, his fathers would be so pissed at him for even attempting this; three, Nick Fury, when he got wind of this, would murder him; and  four, he _disabled Jarvis_. Peter didn’t want to think of the consequences of that. So yeah. Dead meat. But he also figured it was worth it, because well, it was for Gwen, and Peter’s brain, no matter how brilliant it was, always short-circuited when it came to Gwen. And Peter’s brain had decided that learning about Gwen’s real parents was more important than the possibility of incarceration and inevitable ass-whooping. _Serves me right for having a family of superheroes,_ he thought as he bypassed the last level of security and fed Gwen’s DNA sample into a machine. _At least Gwen would be happy, I think._

The search took some time, and Peter spent that covering his tracks and making sure no one in SHIELD got alerted of his unauthorized access at the moment. He set his search result parameters to keep him just under the radar. No beeps, no photos, no data display. Just confirm any match and send the data to his printer. Imagine his joy, the unbridled thrill and the rush of having succeeded with minimal fuss—he got his data, got out of the system, and put everything back into place (Jarvis included). It was like Peter was never there.

The DNA match results looked promising, because not only did he find Gwen’s biological mother, he found Gwen’s real dad as well. The odds of finding one of her parents in the database was slim, Peter knew, so getting _both_ parents was amazing. Absentmindedly, Peter wondered about that. _I just hope her parents aren’t nefarious supervillains who thirst for world domination, because that would be just really awkward._ His eyes skimmed the paper as the data was printed out.

Peter opened a can of soda as the rest of the data finished printing. He picked up the first few pages, taking a gulp of his drink as he scanned them. His eye caught a name, two names, and he spewed Coke all over the consoles. _You have got to be shitting me._ He grabbed the last pages and read them properly.

 _Yep. I am definitely dead meat._ There was a whimper threatening to escape his throat, and Peter had to bury his face in his hands. It’s one thing to have power-hungry megalomaniacs as his potential girlfriend’s parents, but it’s another thing to have these two as the parental units:

_  
_

_Match found: Romanoff, Natasha (Romanova, Natalia Alianovna)_

_Match found: Barton, Clinton Francis_

_  
_

Peter’s brain, now fully up and running after that shock of discovery, decided that he made a huge mistake. _Oh god._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwen had a closed adoption, so she knew that finding out about her real parents would be a bit tricky. Part of her was actually resigned to the idea that her search might never get her anywhere, but here came Peter Parker, apparently quite a knight, handing her the answers to questions she’s never really let herself ask.

Gwen liked to people-watch. She liked imagining the lives they lead, the secrets they keep. She often sat outdoors at coffee shops to do just that. She could just lose herself in the exercise of wondering about people—what were they like? What did they like? What did they long for? That elderly gentleman across the street with a cane and a paper bag, Gwen imagined he had a dog, a faithful white Lab, which would sit at his feet while he read a book by the window. The old man never married, but he was in love once. It was with a young nurse with golden hair and a lovely smile. He lost her to cancer. He never found another. It was silly, she knew, daydreaming about other people’s lives, but it was fun to let her mind wander. Sometimes, she wondered what any of the people she saw thought about her. Did they see her as a nerd, with her biology books and her laptop, or did they see her for who she was, a girl who had big dreams but sometimes felt so small? And sometimes, only sometimes, she wondered if any of the strangers that passed by were her real parents. She imagined her mother to be beautiful, of course, and once in a while Gwen liked to think she saw a shadow of her real mother’s face on her own. Gwen knew she was pretty enough, but surely her looks were no match to her mother’s. And at times, she fancied that she and her real father had the same smirk, the same amused twinkle in their eyes. Gwen liked those ‘sometimes’.

It was so easy to lose herself in the daydreams, so easy to forget that these people had real lives. Most days, it was easier to forget her own life that way, easier to forget that she was alone. After being shuttled between adoptive relatives the last two years, Gwen was on her own. And though that was better than feeling out of place in other people’s homes, it wasn’t any less lonely. She had one year to go before college, and she was looking forward to going. A new school meant a fresh start. In a new place, she can get a chance to be herself and not the orphaned geek everyone else thought she was. Though people never made fun of her for that, she saw the pitying looks they sometimes gave when they remember her loss. She didn’t need their pity. She just needed … something not pity. Something solid, stable, whole.

Her search for her biological parents was a crazy, caffeine-induced idea. It wasn’t an actual thing she intended to pursue, but it was a thought she allowed herself to entertain. It made her sleep a little better, even if it was a vague plan, made her feel a little less like a balloon let loose in the sky. At least now she had something to hold onto, as small and incredibly improbable as it was.

Telling Peter wasn’t really a mistake, but she felt ridiculous about it after she told him. He didn’t really know her, so why would he care about her problems? But he was a good sport and he listened to her ramble, and there was comfort in that. So she kept telling him things, her plans, her likes and dislikes, her dreams.

So when Peter came to meet her one day, at a coffee shop she’s never been to, she was so surprised at his news that she couldn’t speak. Gwen stared at Peter, incredulous. When he said he’d help her find her biological parents, she didn’t think he’d be able to manage it, much less so soon. Her hands trembled as she thought of opening the envelope Peter gave her. He didn’t explain how he got his hands on the DNA results, but Gwen understood that Peter’s parents were incredibly well-connected people, so she assumed he had his ways. Besides, she was so focused on the fact that she now held the truth to her identity that she really didn’t think of how Peter got the information.

Gwen had a closed adoption, so she knew that finding out about her real parents would be a bit tricky. Part of her was actually resigned to the idea that her search might never get her anywhere, but here came Peter Parker, apparently quite a knight, handing her the answers to questions she’s never really let herself ask.

  
  


“There’s been a security breach last weekend, Agent Romanoff,” Nick Fury said. “It took a while to detect, only spotted a couple of hours after the breach was made.”

Natasha didn’t reply, waited for Fury to go on. She sat at one end of the conference table with her back ramrod-straight.

“Some information was accessed, information that has been on file for eighteen years.” Fury turned to face her. “Information on you.”

Natasha could ask a number of things— _what_ , _how_ , _why_ —but the look in Fury’s eyes was enough to confirm her suspicions.

“Who took it?” she murmured.

“Peter.”

 Natasha’s brow furrowed slightly.

“He found your daughter,” Fury said. It wasn’t much of an explanation, but he knew she’d understand. He knew Natasha well enough and knew the contents of the file well enough not to push the issue, but he did that anyway when he spoke again. “Now I’ll have to talk to Barton about this.” He regarded Natasha silently. “Unless you want to do it yourself.”

Natasha didn’t answer. Telling Clint about an eighteen-year-old secret wasn’t a good idea, she knew. She kept it a secret for a reason. She had meant to keep it for the rest of her life. Fury slid a dossier across the table.

 _Gwendolyn Stacy_ , the file read. Natasha tried not to stare at the young woman’s photo. She had Clint’s hair color. And his eyes. Not the color—the shade of green was hers—but the shape of them, wide and bright, like they could see everything. Natasha wondered what Gwen would see in her.

“Yes. I’ll tell Clint.” She excused herself, walking out soundlessly with the folder in her hands, holding it gingerly, as if it were on the verge of detonating.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He always said that he and she remembered Budapest very differently. Natasha believed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cameos/mentions of Young Avengers start here.
> 
> Big thanks to [isengard](http://archiveofourown.org/users/isengard) for being my sounding board when I got stuck with this, and for always making sure I am alive. I love you like Clint loves his trick arrows.

He always said that he and she remembered Budapest very differently. Natasha believed him. Budapest was never a one-time thing—there were a number of missions there. Sometimes solo, but mostly with the two of them. Natasha thought Clint was more inclined to remember the first Budapest mission, the one they almost blundered, being new partners, and she remembered the last one, the one she had tried so hard to run away from. She had never gone back to Budapest with Clint after that, and though he never said anything about it, sometimes Natasha felt like he wondered why. She wasn’t usually one for sentiment, but Budapest had become a place she’d rather not be. She had done worse things: tortured, double-crossed, killed people, but nothing haunted her more than giving up that little girl all those years ago. She could’ve made a different call, but adding a baby to her life at the time was out of the question. Having been raised in the Red Room, Natasha knew a life of danger and violence wasn’t something she wanted for her child. Adoption was the best choice—she wanted that little girl to live a life that Natasha didn’t get to have.

A few months after she gave up her baby girl, Peter had come into their lives. Seeing the boy grow up, being part of his life, raising him together with the rest of the team, it had made Natasha wonder about the child she no longer had, the little girl she didn’t even bother naming because Natasha knew that the moment she gave birth, the baby was no longer hers. It was easier to just sever all ties as quickly as she could so she could pick up where she left off. Her pregnancy was filed as a lengthy solo undercover mission in Asia. Though she did small intel-gathering assignments for the first few months, the rest of her term was spent in a woodland retreat somewhere in the Rocky Mountains. She was Nadya Roswell, a soft-spoken raven-haired former ballet dancer who had lost her husband in Iraq. It was admittedly refreshing to be somewhere and not be on assignment, to just fall into the moment. She hadn’t had such a long break in her career, and she found it mildly terrifying to be so relaxed, doing absolutely nothing. In a way, it was still a mission: one that involved making sure that the baby came out healthy for its adoptive parents. Like all other assignments, Natasha did her best. Then she packed her bags and moved on. Having Peter in her life was like a second chance, one she never asked for, but she found herself taking it anyway. At first, it felt like a task, but taking care of Peter was one of the most rewarding things she’d ever done—and in her life, she’d done a great number of things.

Drawing Clint out to talk should be so simple. They’ve been partners and comrades-in-arms for too long, there was pretty much nothing they hadn’t been through together. But even now, Natasha didn’t know how he’d take the news. It could go two ways, and either one wouldn’t be easy.

“Hey, Tasha,” he said when she opened the door to her apartment in Brooklyn. She figured she should do this away from the Stark Tower, away from the others. His smile was easy, his eyes tired but still sharp. He stepped inside. “Something smells good. Did you cook?”

She scoffed, pushing the door closed behind him. “Takeout. Italian,” she murmured. She went into the dining area, leaving Clint in the living room as he made himself comfortable on the couch.

“How is your TV better than mine?” he complained.

Natasha’s laugh was unexpected, the sound throaty and a little rough. “Because I have better taste?” She wandered back into the living room, handing Clint an uncapped beer bottle. “And also because I let Tony hook me up with that home theater system.”

Clint gratefully accepted the bottle, took a quick gulp. He was fiddling with one of the remote controls, managed to get the TV on. He stared at Natasha after looking around a little. “You don’t have TiVo?”

Natasha sat down beside Clint, tucking one leg under her, a glass of white wine in her hand. “I barely watch TV as it is. Why would I need TiVo?”

“Because,” Clint frowned. “We’re supposed to be friends. How am I supposed to catch shows here if you don’t have TiVo?”

Rolling her eyes, Natasha took a sip of her drink. “Maybe that was the point. You not taking advantage of my having a DVR.”

 

Dinner was hearty, with Clint digging into his food as soon as it was served. She got him his usual—spaghetti and meatballs—while she had chicken fettucine with pesto cream sauce. Their tastes couldn’t be any more different, their personalities even so. But years of missions together gave them a kind of synergy and understanding of each other despite their differences. Natasha had always counted on that ever since, that instinctive knowledge of Clint’s possible reactions, the choices he might make. Tonight was unlike any mission or situation they’ve ever been in, and a tiny prickling of a panic settled in the back of her throat. She didn’t like not knowing how he’d take the news, but she didn’t have much of a choice at this point. She had to tell him before he heard it from someone else.

A discussion about the worst places to be in the middle of an apocalypse came up, and then Clint mentioned Kate Bishop and Madripoor and how “kids these days do the darndest things.” He raised his fork for emphasis, but Natasha could hear the pride underneath the exasperation. Clint was impressed by the girl, that much is true.

“You were a kid once.” Natasha raised a delicately arched eyebrow. “Tell me you didn’t do stupid things then.” She smirked. “I mean, you still do, every once in a while.”

Clint tried to glare at her, but he ended up chuckling.

She got up and took out the tiramisu from the fridge. “Peter isn’t any different. You’d think a kid of his mental acuity and IQ would be more sensible than most.” She gave Clint a slice.

He attacked dessert with the same fervor as he did the pasta. “What do you expect? He’s Stark spawn. Doesn’t matter if they don’t actually share DNA.” He snorted. “Tony and that kid are going to drive Steve Rogers to the brink someday.”

Natasha knew an opening when she saw one. “You think Peter would ever drive you to the brink?”

He blinked, lifting his head long enough to stop eating. “Me? Kid’s got nothing on me.”

She chuckled, started on her own slice. “Say he started making moves on Kate, and the two of them start dating.”

“That’s their business.” He shrugged, his mouth full of cake, but Natasha could tell he didn’t quite like the thought of Kate and Peter together.

“Well, you don’t have to worry about that, at least. Pete’s been mooning over some girl for a while now.”

He chewed a bit. “Really.” He took one more bite before asking, “How bad?”

“Bad enough that he hacked into SHIELD’s database to find her birth parents.”

Clint did a double-take. “That’s really bad. Do the parental units know yet? Has Fury gone for the kid’s hide?”

“Oh, they know. I think Peter’s going to be grounded for the rest of Captain America’s remaining natural life.” She picked at her cake. “Fury’s given me the honor of doing so.”

“Poor kid’s never getting laid.” He sipped some wine, helped himself to another slice. “Yeah? Why’s that? He’s delegating ass-kicking now?”

Natasha poured herself more wine. “I happen to be the girl’s birth mother, so I’m entitled to personally kick Peter’s ass.” She waited a beat, then downed her glass.

The shock of her words came first, the surprise and disbelief registering clearly on Clint’s face; confusion came seconds later. “You’re the birth mother.” His brow furrowed. “She’s what, seventeen?”

“Just turned eighteen.” She’d now lost her appetite for cake, deciding to let the deconstructed slice sit on the plate.

“Eighteen.” He blinked once, twice, as if he were trying to clear his head. “When did you even …”

Natasha scoffed in spite of herself. “I have my ways,” she murmured, not quite sure how to actually say what she needed to say without possibly giving Clint an aneurysm.

Clint regarded her silently for several long seconds, then his eyes filled with comprehension. “You had a long assignment somewhere about eighteen years ago.”

“Yeah.” Natasha decided she could use some more cake after all, if only to keep her hands occupied. “It was that time.” The cake crumbled even more.

No one said anything for a long while. “Her name is Gwen.” Natasha finally said. She produced her cell phone and showed him a photo.

Clint took the phone and studied the image. “Pretty girl.”

“She has your hair color,” Natasha could barely get the words out. “And the shape of your eyes.”

The sound Clint made did not seem promising. Natasha watched him closely.

“She’s mine?” He pretty much choked on the words, his gaze alternating between Gwen’s photo and Natasha’s face.

“Ours.”

“We need to talk about this sometime, Tasha,”—temper flashed in his eyes—“but right now I need to kick—I mean _speak_ to Peter.”

Natasha watched as Clint shot out of his seat, cake forgotten. She knew she could have tried to stop Clint, reason with him, but the look in his eyes told her that all efforts would have been futile.

“I’ll drive.” She tried to hide the amusement in her eyes as she grabbed her jacket and car keys.


End file.
